


Good is a Matter of Perspective

by JoifulDreaming



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anxiety, Existential Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Breakdown
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:14:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24240412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoifulDreaming/pseuds/JoifulDreaming
Summary: When it all catches up with Aziraphale, Crowley is there to catch him.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 79





	Good is a Matter of Perspective

In the days following the not-end of the world, Crowley watches him. Not so closely that it would draw suspicion from Aziraphale, but close enough to know when it happens. Crowley has spent his thousands of years, off and on, watching Aziraphale so it’s not overly strange.

It’s days spent watching him “tidy” the bookshop. Which really amounts more to moving books from one seemingly-arbitrary place to another seemingly-arbitrary place. Aziraphale claims there’s a system, Crowley is sure there isn’t. The manic tidying continues in his flat, too, with Aziraphale even moving around some of his smaller plants. He lets him; he’ll move them back to their proper places later. 

Back and forth it goes, with Crowley never leaving because he knows the moment is coming. And, it does. On a quiet night as Aziraphale is moving the same pile of books he’s already moved three times today. It happens suddenly and in an unexpected outburst: the stack of books go flying across the room, knocking over other stacks of books when they hit. Even after all this time waiting for the moment, Crowley flinches. He stills, watching the Angel. He’s been waiting for it, yes, but he’s not sure what exactly to do about it.

“SIX THOUSAND YEARS!” His hands are in his hair now and they’re pulling. “SIX THOUSAND YEARS I DID EVERYTHING I WAS SUPPOSED TO!”

“You did.” Crowley keeps his voice calm, measured, quiet.

“I WANTED- BUT I DIDN’T! I GET AN ORDER, I FOLLOW IT. I AM TOLD I CAN’T HELP, I HEED THAT. ALL FOR THE GREAT PLAN!”

“You did.”

“AND I ASK ONE TIME! ONE TIME! _ONE TIME_ THEY LISTEN TO ME! THAT THEY TRY TO HEAR REASON! BUT NO!”

“You tried, Angel.”

“BUT THEY NEVER WANTED ME AROUND IN THE FIRST PLACE!” His chest is heaving now and his hands have slid down over his face in quiet horror. “They told me this was a prestigious assignment… Really they… They just wanted to be rid of me, didn’t they?”

“They didn’t know what they had.”

“Oh,” he clucks his tongue, “look at my books.” He makes a move to go clean them up.

“So help me, Aziraphale, if you move those books one more time…”

“What?” He’s shrunk in on himself a bit, deflated from his outburst. Crowley knows if he lets him, he’ll go right back to his manic tidying.

“c’mere.” He pats the sofa beside him. “Sit.”

Aziraphale looks at him then spares a glance back at the books sprawled on top of one another, pages torn and spines bent.

“I’ll help you fix them later, I promise.”

“But, I’ll know.” He’s staring at them, hands fidgeting in front of him, tugging at his own fingers.

Crowley gets up and crosses to him slowly, being sure to gauge if he should stop or back off. Aziraphale makes no move to back away from him so he slides a hand over his shoulder.

“I never quite fit.” Aziraphale won’t meet his eyes. “I tried to, but I didn’t.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“You say that like it’s a _good_ thing.”

“Well, I have a different perspective.” He slides fingers under Aziraphale’s chin and lifts it, forcing their eyes to meet. It’s positively strange to be the one forcing this when he’s the one so often shielding his eyes. But there’s importance and sincerity he wants to put behind his words. “You didn’t fit in because you’re better than they are. You are good.”

Aziraphale swallows hard and his eyes dart back and forth between Crowley’s eyes, digesting his words.

“They were out for themselves…” The words are small and the last one cracks. A tear escapes and trickles down his cheek. “They never… they never really cared for this world.”

“No.” Crowley catches the tear and wipes it away.

“They never really cared for me…”

“Hard to see beyond your own nose when your own nose is all you care about.” Crowley steps in closer and feels Aziraphale’s hands gently rest on his hips, seemingly drawn without thought. “But that’s alright, they didn’t care for me, either. No one mourned my fall.”

“But you’ve always cared for me, haven’t you?” The words are even smaller, whispered into the air between them.

Crowley dips his head, hesitating just long enough to pull back if he’s not wanted before pressing his forehead to Aziraphale’s.

“Yes.” And if his s is drawn out a little in relief, neither of them comment on the fact.

“Our side?”

“Our side.”

“Our world?”

“Our world, Angel.” He presses a soft kiss to Aziraphale’s forehead to seal the promise. “You’re not just wanted here, you’re needed here.”


End file.
